


A Well Kept Secret

by modambrosia



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Awkward Romance, Bara Sans, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Crushes, F/M, First Meetings, Human/Monster Romance, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Papyrus Knows More Than He Lets On, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:06:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modambrosia/pseuds/modambrosia
Summary: “SANS, IF YOU DON’T CLOSE THAT DOOR IMMEDIATELY, I WILL-” Upon hearing the resounding stomps of Papyrus rushing to the door, Sans makes a split second decision and grabs a quick fistful of the human girl’s jacket, yanking her into their home and slamming the door shut behind her. Time seems to freeze.Papyrus stares at the human. The human stares back. All the air seems to have left the room. Sans’ face begins to pinch up in regret as the tension in the room reaches a tipping point, the consequences of his actions catching up to him."paps, i know this might not'a been the smartest thing i ever did, but-"Papyrus draws in a deep breath and screams.An awkward-pseudo-roommates turned friendship turned awkward lovers fic wherein Sans is Uncomfortable (in both a good and bad way), Papyrus is not actually as simple minded as people may believe, and a human girl feels as though she’s suddenly become the main character in some ridiculous romance story.





	1. Chapter 1: The Weather Outside is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, and I'm excited to finally contribute to the fandom I've been enjoying for so long! Any trigger warnings that may be needed before certain chapters will be posted up here, and any comments about the fic and my updating schedule will be in the notes at the bottom. This first chapter is a bit of a short one, but I just wanted to get something out there before I lost the courage to post!

_ “-and we’re now getting word that yet another road has been closed off by police after a three car pile up on I-29 south as the ice on the roads builds up even further. Citizens, humans and monsters alike, we urge you to remain in your homes and off of the roads. I repeat, I-29 South has now been shut down after a three car pile up, no word yet on any possible casualties. Even if a road has been plowed, we recommend remaining off of them, as the measures road officials are taking to prevent ice have not been holding up due to the severity of the storm, and the roads have begun to freeze over and become icy and slick. Tires without proper traction are likely to lose control. Please, stay inside your homes-”  _ Papyrus scoffs, bone clacking against the remote as he continues on past the news station. He’s sat comfortably against the far end of the couch, and Sans glances towards him from his own end of the couch at the sudden noise; they’d been sitting in relative silence ever since they’d finished dinner and moved out to the living room to relax. 

 

“THE HUMANS,” Papyrus begins after a dramatic pause, “THEY ARE ABSOLUTELY PATHETIC! HOW HAVE THEY REMAINED ALIVE ALL THESE YEARS IF THEY CANNOT EVEN HANDLE THEIR OWN WEATHER? ABYSMAL, THE LOT OF THEM! ALL THEY REQUIRE IS A BIT OF SNOW AND SUDDENLY THEY START DROPPING LIKE FLIES! I LIVED IN THE SNOW ALL MY LIFE, AND NOT ONCE DID I FALL INTO A PANIC AT THE SIGHT OF A SNOWSTORM!” Sans nods slightly as Papyrus grows louder in his impromptu speech, eyes drifting towards the windows and his mind wandering from his brother’s voice. Although he would usually agree with Papyrus on the inherent uselessness and weakness of the human race, he can’t help but feel the desire to cut them a bit of slack this time- the weather that’s brewed over the past week or so has finally come to fruition, with a heavy snowstorm falling on the city in the early hours of the morning continuing on without any sign of stopping. The humans were apparently only equipped for smaller storms of less severity, and this along with them not expecting any snow for at least another month had left them starkly unprepared. Three human deaths have already been reported, and as more snow falls to the ground humans in turn are falling further into mass panic, with many attempting to leave their homes and gather supplies to face the oncoming days of the storm. Sans feels a chill run down his spine as he continues staring out the window, watching as the trees, the houses, the cars, everything outside becomes harder and harder to see through the harsh expanse of white overtaking the world; in human books that fell Underground, snow was always described with reverence and awe, writers making note of the supposed beauty of freshly fallen snow. The only thing Sans can feel is a subtle terror, the blank lifelessness of the pure white world reminding him of a sort of inverse void- where there was once never ending darkness, there is instead a never ending nothingness, an endless world of white. A tinny guitar tune rings out into the room and plucks Sans back to attention, and Papyrus digs his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants. 

 

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, UNDYNE?” Sans watches as Papyrus stands up and begins to wander the room. He’s about to ask what Undyne’s calling for when he feels a strange tug in his chest. 

 

Suddenly, there comes a frantic knocking at the front door.

 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'A HUMAN IS WANDERING THE STREETS'?!  _ OUR  _ STREETS? RIGHT NOW?” Papyrus harshly whispers his panicked questions into the receiver as he whips his head towards the door, and he and Sans make eye contact, both with eye sockets gone wide. Undyne’s voice crackles through the phone, and Papyrus’ gaze jolts toward the door. 

 

“SANS,” He barks, eyes never leaving the door, “OPEN IT. GET RID OF THAT HUMAN, SEND IT AWAY! UNDYNE SAYS IT HAS BEEN GOING DOOR TO DOOR ATTEMPTING TO ENTER THE HOMES OF MONSTERS! MAKE IT LEAVE!” Sans grimaces- why him?- and marches to the door, throwing it open and putting on his fiercest, most intimidating scowl as he extinguishes the lights of his eyes. In front of him is a human, bundled tightly in a scarf and hat that cover all but its eyes, and a massive coat that shrouds its body. They jump back in surprise when the door opens. Two small hands reach up and pull the scarf from its face, and Sans finds himself looking into the wide eyes of a human woman. She says something once, but Sans can’t hear her over the howling wind of the storm. She seems to read the confusion on his face and tries again, her frozen chapped lips cracking and bleeding as she widens her mouth in a yell. 

 

“P-p-please, let m-me in!” Papyrus lets out a squawk from behind him at the sound of the human voice. Sans isn’t paying much attention to his brother, however; at the moment, he isn’t hearing much of anything. Instead, he feels that strange little tug in his chest again. His eyelights blink back into existence and he stares hard down at this human girl. She looks back up at him, her skin gone an ashen grey color and her lips slightly blue where the red blood isn’t streaking out. Her eyes, squinting against the strong winds, blink out a few frozen tears. 

 

“SANS, IF YOU DON’T CLOSE THAT DOOR _IMMEDIATELY_ , I WILL-” Upon hearing the resounding stomps of Papyrus rushing to the door, Sans makes a split second decision and grabs a quick fistful of the human girl’s jacket, yanking her into their home and slamming the door shut behind her. She groans in gratitude, clutching to San’s sweatshirt and trembling as her body acclimates itself to the sudden change in temperature. Papyrus drops his phone, the dots of his eyes shrunken to mere pinpricks in his gaping sockets, jaw hanging open, frozen where he stands a few feet away. 

 

Time seems to freeze. Papyrus stares at the human. The human stares back. All the air seems to have left the room. Sans’ face begins to pinch up in regret as the tension in the room reaches a tipping point, the consequences of his actions catching up to him. 

 

"paps, i know this might not'a been the smartest thing i ever did, but-"

 

Papyrus draws in a deep breath and screams.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “human,” Sans growls out, and whether your shiver is from the cold or from his voice he can’t tell, “i got a question for ya. how good are ya at keeping quiet, and how bad do ya wanna live?” 
> 
> You feel as though you might’ve been better off out in the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! No trigger warnings for this chapter (unless you'd like me to add one, then feel free to drop a message!) Hope y'all are having a great day so far, enjoy the chapter! 
> 
> Side note: unlike the first chapter, which was sort of just a teaser for the rest of the story, from here on out the human is YOU and will be referred to as such. Any of your thoughts are the regular personal italics, while Sans' thoughts only use lowercase letters and have an asterisk before them.

 

Papyrus’ scream echoes in the room, and you yelp and cower behind Sans to protect yourself from whatever wrath Papyrus intends to rain down upon you. His voice is booming and steeped with rage when Papyrus shouts, 

“SANS, YOU IMBECILE! I DEMANDED YOU SEND IT AWAY, NOT INVITE IT TO STAY! PUT THAT WRETCHED THING BACK OUTSIDE!” 

“No, please!” 

Both Sans and Papyrus turn their attention to you in surprise that you were able to gather up enough courage to raise your voice at the imposing skeleton before you. That courage shrivels up and dies at the look you receive from Papyrus, and you shrink in on yourself before continuing, 

“I— I was on my way home from the store, and my car spun out a couple blocks back— I’ve got no way to get home now. I’ve been trying to look for somewhere to wait out the storm, but no one will let me in! If you put me back out there, I’ll die!” 

Papyrus laughs at this, a humorless burst of air, and stalks forward to snatch you up by the arms. Your voice cracks around a wordless cry, any further pleas going unheard as Papyrus throws open the front door and shoves you back into the storm.  In a last ditch effort to survive you grasp for Papyrus, catching a handful of his sleeves. You look up to him and your eyes plead for mercy. Papyrus leans down so that your faces are mere inches apart, and for a moment your face lights up with hope. 

“IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, YOU WILL UNHAND ME.” You gasp and release your hold on his sleeve. Sans catches your tearful gaze for only a second before the door slams shut with an air of finality. Papyrus stands there, hands on his hips, before nodding his head in satisfaction and returning to his seat on the couch. 

Sans watches him pick up the remote and continue to click through the television channels as though the past five minutes had never happened. His chest itches, and his attention goes back to the storm outside the window. It’s late. The sun is starting to go down. It’s going to get even colder out there. 

Out there, where you’re wandering the streets.

“uh, boss? y...you think that human might’a had a point wit’ that whole ‘dying in monster territory’ thing?” Papyrus ignores his query, shoulders tight and eyes focused a bit too closely on the tv, where he still hasn’t chosen a channel and is instead anxiously clicking through them with a trembling hand cinched around the remote.

Regret pangs in Sans’ gut looking at the stress he’s induced in his brother. What was he thinking, just letting you into their home? Some  _ human _ ? You could have done anything, could have pulled out a weapon, could have had just enough intention of hurting a monster to murder the both of them right there where they stood. 

And yet that irritating little tug in his chest persists, urging him toward the door. 

“ey, Paps? i’m gonna head on up to bed. dealing with that human got me pretty beat.” Papyrus grunts noncommittally, waving a hand over his shoulder to send Sans off. Sans ambles up the stairs and makes a point of heavily dragging his feet as he reaches his room, closing the door loudly behind him. 

In the darkness of his bedroom, the warm red glow of his magic casts shadows along the walls when Sans silently wills his door to lock. The air around him crackles with static as he cuts a fissure in the air to the void, stepping through and finding himself outside the front of the home he and Papyrus share. With a glance back toward their house and discomfort prickling at the back of his neck, Sans sends a mental apology to his brother before looking around in the snow. At this point, it’s become a blizzard, and around him is nothing but white. 

Where are you? You couldn’t have gone far, not with the snow so deep and the winds so strong. In the distance, Sans spots the outline of what looks like a person. From this far he can’t quite make out their species, but that incessant itch in his soul gives him the hunch he needs. 

He cuts another teleport and drops himself off a few feet in front of the figure. You scream at his sudden appearance, and while Sans would normally enjoy the terror he strikes in humans, the risk of the choice he’s about to make crumples up any joy he could derive from the encounter. Sans reaches forward and grabs you by the arms, his claws sinking into the thick material of your coat, and you look up at him with fear and confusion in your eyes. 

“human,” Sans growls out, and whether your shiver is from the cold or from his voice he can’t tell, “i got a question for ya. how good are ya at keeping quiet, and how bad do ya wanna live?” 

“What the hell does that even mean,” you sob out in confusion. Your blatant fear of Sans coupled with your fear of dying out there in the snow has brought you close to hysterics. Sans feels his jaw tighten as he fights the urge to gripe at you and instead he teleports you both back to his room.

Before you can scream, one clawed hand slaps over your mouth and the other closes threateningly around your throat— not enough to choke, but a promise of what Sans is capable of. Your pulse is fast and fluttering under the bones of his hand.  This time, Sans knows your trembling is a direct result of his power over you and the two of you stand frozen like that, silently riding out the last bits of adrenaline coursing through your bodies while your eyes adjust to the darkness of Sans’ room. He holds your gaze while he pulls his hands away, slowly, ready to silence you in an instant should you attempt to cry out. 

You glance to his bedroom door, then back to Sans, but your lips remain pressed tightly together. 

Sans takes a step back and gets a good look at you. Your clothes are frozen from the snow but quickly thawing, leaving you dripping and cold; your skin is still pale but regaining color, reddening at your nose, your ears, your cheeks; your eyes and nose are running, you’re a sniveling, crying mess, and you’re shaking like a goddamn leaf. 

Sans brings a hand to his head and drags it across the top of his skull as he attempts to come to terms with the situation he’s gotten himself into.

“i dunno why the hell i brought ya back here, but ya welcome for savin’ ya life an’ all. don’t get your hopes up or anythin’ yet, though. my brother finds ya up here an’  _ both  _ of us gonna wish for somethin’ as sweet as death.” You nod in understanding, hands wringing and knees shaking. You and Sans stare at each other for a few seconds longer and Sans squirms in discomfort at the intensity of your gaze, as your eyes plead silently for instruction on what to do next. 

“quit lookin at me like that,” he whispers with a glare, and you flinch and drops your eyes to the floor.  _ Geez, he’s so mean! _ You feel as though you might’ve been better off out in the storm. Sans’ shoulders sag and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nasal bone. 

“no, wait, sorry— i ain’t mean to get mad. i just— ugh. listen, ya wanna change of clothes or somethin’?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond, busying himself with finding something suitable to put you in before you get sick from sitting in the damp clothes you’ve got on and die anyways.  _ *all that work to save her stupid life and she catches a cold and dies right here in my room? i think fuckin’ not.  _

He rummages through his drawers and bemoans your size difference; humans are always so  _ tiny  _ compared to most monsters, and every sweater and hoodie he has will absolutely smother you in fabric. He gives up and picks out an older hoodie of his, tossing it toward you with no warning and grimacing at your audible gasp. 

You tense up and peek at him in fear upon realizing your mistake, pressing one of your own hands to your mouth at Sans’ withering glare. He rolls his eyes and gestures to the hoodie, and although you force a grateful smile, you continue to just stand there and stare at him. He throws his hands up in confusion, brow bones drawn, and your face flushes red.  _ Isn’t he gonna close his eyes or something? Do monsters not have privacy?  _

“well? the hell are you waiting for, ya wanna get sick and die  _ before  _ ya change your clothes?” You shrink back from his scathing tone and drop your gaze again.  Sans can feel himself getting fed up with you already, the clear communication barrier between you grating on his nerves.  _ *aint these things supposed ta be scarier? all the humans in’a world, and i get the one wit’ no backbone. lucky me. _

It’s only when you begin to slide the fabric of your clothing off of one shoulder that Sans realizes what you had been waiting for. Your pause, a silent request for him to avert his eyes and grant you privacy, went completely over Sans’ head. He can feel the scorching heat of embarrassment lighting up his face.  Sans chokes on a cough and spins around to face his dresser, his nonexistent stomach flipping in somersaults. He stutters out a quiet apology that you can’t quite hear but don’t have the audacity to ask him to repeat himself.

_ Oh, thank fuck,  _ you think as you hum a small noise of gratitude, and he can hear the strain in your voice, both of you clearly dying from awkwardness. Just as Sans begins to wish the void would open up and swallow him whole, he hears you quietly clear your throat, calling his attention back to you. 

“is it- uh- safe to look?” You can’t help but giggle at that and Sans feels himself tense up in defense, embarrassment turning to rage from you laughing at his newfound timidness. He turns around, chest puffed out and eyes cold and sharp, but whatever furious whisper he’d had building on his tongue fades quickly. 

Standing in nothing but a huge sweater-  _ his  _ huge sweater- you look even tinier than before. You’re sporting a thinly veiled smirk, clearly enjoying Sans’ personal torment, and you’ve got the pile of wet clothes in your hands held out for Sans to take care of. 

The pile of wet clothes, resting on top of which are your soaked bra and panties. 

Sans lets out a humiliating garble of sounds and balls up his fists, stepping away from you as he stutters, “w-what the hell, i aint takin’ that shit!” 

_ *i seen that in those dumb human lady magazines (that were totally  _ **_not_ ** _ sexy or anythin’, thank ya very much) and if she’s holdin’ em, it means she is completely fuckin’ starkers under that sweater. sheesh.  _

“Wait, what? What am I supposed to do with it then, just leave it on the floor?! It’ll ruin your carpet!” He glances down at the offending clothing before looking back up to your bewildered stare.  _ Seriously dude,  _ you can barely bite your tongue,  _ it’s just underwear, get over it!  _ You’re right, you both know it, and if Sans thought he was blushing before then his entire body must be literally on fire this time. 

He pinches the pile of clothes in a claw, touching as little of it as possible, and drops it in a plastic bag he finds balled up on his floor. The dramatic sigh of relief he emits pulls another giggle from you and he glares at you again, mouth pulled into a snarl. You raise your hands in surrender and retreat to his bed to avoid further bothering him, smile still tugging at your cheeks. Sans joins you, seating himself in a desk chair beside his bed, and sits back with his arms crossed. 

“okay, here’s how this is gonna work. you- uh, whats ya name, by the way?” You give it to him, and- there it is again, that weird tug in his chest that makes his soul itch. Shaking off the sensation, he continues, 

“right, whatever doll. my name’s Sans. anyways, until this storm blows over, i’m letting you stay all nice an’ warm up here in my room. you don’t leave this room for  **nothin’** , ya hear? and ya can’t make not one peep, not a one, or else Boss is gonna find ya in here and tear ya soul in two.” 

He’s lying through his teeth, of course. Despite the front that Papyrus puts up of a cold hearted force to be reckoned with, his brother isn’t one for thoughtless murder by his own hand— that was simply a persona he’d taken up to survive in the Underground. The worst he’d really do is throw you back out in the snow with a handful of acerbic (but empty) threats. However, throwing you back out in the snow is as good as a death sentence at the moment, so he isn’t really wrong about you ending up dead in the end. 

You nod your head but otherwise remain silent, pulling your legs up to your chest under the hoodie and hugging them close while resting your chin on your knees. Sans releases a heavy sigh, bones finally settling and spine relaxing into a slump now that the last dredges of panic and worry have been settled. His body aches after having been held tense for so long, and a subtle pounding in the back of his skull promises for a headache in the morning. 

He doesn’t realize his eyes have drifted shut until he feels something pressing into his leg bone. One eye slides open to find a small foot tapping against his shin and he looks up to see you staring at him expectantly.  _ *again wit’ the staring! stars, this is awkward.   _

“the hell do ya want now, kid?” You bite your lip and look to the side. 

“I totally don’t wanna complain or anything- like, I’m super grateful you saved my life! But, uh...what am I gonna do about food? And going to the bathroom? Showering? Sleeping?” The resounding drumbeat in Sans’ head thuds harder and harder the more you speak and Sans can physically feel himself growing angrier. 

You’ve got a point, though. Sans hadn’t thought about the fact that humans require a ridiculous amount of upkeep. He’s got to figure out some way to feed you—  _ what is it, four times a day? _ — bathe you, clothe you, give you a place to sleep and piss and whatever the hell else it is humans do…

...and he has to do all of this without Papyrus finding out. 

Sans stands up from the desk chair, only to drop face first on to the bed beside you. You smother a squeak of surprise and scoot to the far end of the bed in an effort to give Sans some space for whatever mental breakdown he’s about to go through. 

“i ain’t dealing wit’  _ any of that shit  _ tonight. i’m goin’ to sleep. i dont give a fuck where you sleep, as long as you don’t bug me for the next six hours. tomorrow we’ll figure out the rest of this... _ whatever  _ this is. but right now? bed. and i don’t wanna hear not one peep outta ya. oh, and one last thing—” 

He reaches out and grabs the sleeves of the sweater you’ve got on, using the excess length to wrap around your body before tying it tight. Your mouth drops open in incredulity.  _ This is some sort of joke. He expects me to sleep like this? What, does he really see  _ **_me_ ** _ as a threat?  _ Sans smirks and pats your shoulder, pleased with his handiwork, before laying back down and closing his eyes.  He can tell you want to argue from your small intake of breath, but you think better of it and let the air out in a defeated sigh.  _ *good,  _ he thinks absently as he begins to drift off.  _ *nothin’ like a human who knows how to follow directions.  _

 

———

 

The first thing Sans thinks when his body slowly begins to wake is that his room feels unusually cold as shit _.  _ The second thing he thinks is that the pillow next to him is quite possibly the warmest thing he’s ever felt in his entire life, and so he throws an arm around it and drags it up against the bones of his chest. To his great annoyance, the pillow begins to wiggle against his hold. 

_ *what a terrible human invention,  _ he muses to himself while locking his arms tighter around the cushion, * _ a pillow that moves? how is anyone supposed to sleep with all’a this goin’ on? shit’s wigglin’ like a moldsmal.  _ It’s only when Sans feels tiny feet kicking against his knees that the rest of his brain is dragged into consciousness and Sans recalls the events from the night before. 

His eyes fly open and he looks down at the most-certainly-NOT-a-pillow in his arms, finding the top of a head of mussed up hair. He releases his grasp and you shove yourself away from him with a loud gasp that has Sans smacking the bones of his hand over your mouth. 

“what the hell, shut up! what if he was  _ here,  _ you stupid—” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you interrupt with a whisper after yanking your head away from his hand, angry eyes still puffy from sleep “It’s not like you almost  _ smothered me  _ to death! I’ll try to die more quietly next time!” The two of you stare at each other, Sans half awake and your breathing heavy with your hair sticking out at every angle. 

_ Is that a line of... _ **_red_ ** _...drool coming from his mouth? And…how does a skeleton manage to get bags under their eyes?  _

This line of thought has your glare crumbling into a giggle that you attempt to hide in your shoulder. Sans raises his brow bones at this sudden change in mood- why you’re laughing, he has no idea, but now that he’s getting a good look at you, he can’t help but laugh as well. You look like shit, and he tells you as much. 

“Fuck off! You look just as bad,” you say with a snort. “You fell asleep in your regular clothes and they’re all wrinkly— and you totally drooled!” 

“speak for yaself, doll, you look like ya just lost a fight wit’ the bed! ya hair is absolutely  _ fucked,  _ and i’m not even gonna mention ya face.” You gasp in mock disbelief, playfully kicking the blankets toward him before finally deciding to get a good look around the room. 

Sans feels a twinge of shame creep over his good mood when you survey the nightmare that is his bedroom. He watches you take in the mountain of trash piled up in the corner, dirty clothes littering the floor and strewn across the tv on his dresser, along with random belongings that have found their home on the carpet after being tossed aside and forgotten. You only pause your sweeping gaze on the trash tornado for a moment before shrugging to yourself and looking back at Sans. 

You don’t say anything, just stare anxiously as though waiting for his next move, and that irritable discomfort from the night before bubbles in his throat.  _ *i know she ain’t gonna kill me, but havin’ a human stare at me like this is still pretty fuckin’ creepy.  _ He climbs out of the bed and turns his back to you, hands smoothing over his rumpled clothes, before making his way toward the bedroom door. 

“Paps is always gone durin’ the day, but i still don’t trust you leavin’ the room yet. you stay here, i’ll be back wit’ some grub for ya in a bit. and by the way, it’s just a slipknot. all ya had to do was pull on ya arms to get out.” He leaves without waiting for you to process his words and slams the door shut, enjoying the groan of annoyance coming faintly from within the room. 

The house is quiet, and where that silence usually calms Sans down, he currently feels an inkling of anxiety as though Papyrus could spring up out of nowhere and demand to know what exactly is going on.  Sans scoffs and shakes his head in an effort to rid himself of the nervous thought, shuffling over to the fridge to look for something to feed you. A scrap of paper taped to the front front of the refrigerator catches his attention. 

 

_ LAZYBONES,  _

_ I WILL NOT BE COMING HOME UNTIL TOMORROW MORNING AS UNDYNE HAS REQUESTED MY ASSISTANCE IN SOMETHING THAT IS ENTIRELY NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. DINNER IS ALREADY PREPARED AND IN THE FRIDGE, SO I DO NOT WANT YOU EVEN THINKING ABOUT SLIPPING OFF TO GRILLBY’S FOR A MEAL.  _

_ IF I COME HOME AND SMELL AS MUCH AS AN OUNCE OF GREASE I WILL DESTROY YOU. _

_ -THE GREAT PAPYRUS _

 

Sans reads the note once, twice, and by the third time he’s gone over it there’s a lopsided grin of disbelief spreading across his face. He peeks out of one of the kitchen windows and spots a long path dug into the snow leading from their house, across the street, and all the way up to Undyne’s front door (though it’s quickly filling back up with snow as the storm goes on.)

“well i’ll be damned. of all the days to have a secret sleepover...hey, human! i changed my mind, you can come down ‘ere!” There’s a few beats of silence followed shortly by small footsteps, the sound of his door, and a rhythmic thudding of feet bounding down the stairs.  You slowly peek your head around the wall into the kitchen, eyes immediately spotting Sans propped against the counter and watching you in amusement.  Satisfied that you aren’t being lured into a trap, you wander into the kitchen and seat yourself on a stool at the island. Your eyes flit up to Sans’ and his soul itches again. 

Breaking the contact, Sans turns to open the fridge doors and survey the food inside. Aside from lasagna ingredients and bottles of mustard, there isn’t much in the way of food. _*well, that's a lil' embarrassing_. What do humans even consider to be proper breakfast food?  Sans can feel your eyes staring at his back, waiting,  _watching,_  and he anxiously grabs the closest thing in his reach, turning toward you and thrusting whatever he’s grabbed into your arms. 

You stare down at the food in bewilderment before sparing a look at Sans. Sweat begins to bead at his brow. 

_ There’s no way this guy is serious. Is he serious? _

“what, you got a problem wit’ my food? go on, eat it.” 

_ Oh, fuck, he’s serious.  _

You gently set the food down on the counter. Sans wants to jump into the void and escape.

“Sans, again, I don’t wanna sound ungrateful, but...you gave me a package of raw meat.” 

“y-yeah, so?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and stifle a laugh. Sans feels his face heat up and he snatches the food off of the counter, throwing it into the back of the fridge and slamming the door shut with a growl. The entire fridge rattles with the force he puts into it and he watches the amusement on your face die out.  

“fine, starve then, ya stupid human! if you were really hungry, ya’d eat whatever i gave ya!” 

“No, Sans, wait, I didn’t mean to laugh! I’m sorry,” You call after him when he storms into the living room, arms shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He stops at your call but remains with his back to you, face still scarlet in embarrassment. You can’t help but feel guilty at having caused this sour turn in his mood.

“I didn’t mean to laugh,” you repeat, softer this time, “it’s just funny because...alright, I don’t know how to word this, but...imagine you ask someone for food. The person hands you something totally inedible, like poison or something, and goes, ‘okay, dig in!’ And you’re like, ‘what the fuck man, I asked for food!’ But this guy, in his culture they eat poison all the time and it’s totally normal, so he’s like, ‘fuck you, man, I just  _ gave _ you some food, you stupid asshole.’ That’s kinda what just happened. I’m not laughing at  _ you,  _ I’m laughing at the misunderstanding.” Sans had turned fast at the mention of poison during your nervous rambling, his anger replaced with horror. 

“are you sayin’ i tried to feed ya  _ poison?! _ ” You laugh again, and this time, Sans is positive he hasn’t saved a human, but instead some freakish demon disguised as one. What human in their right mind almost gets poisoned by a monster and  _ laughs  _ about it?

“No, Sans, you gave me food, it’s just raw. Human stomachs are weird, and the stuff you gave me has to be cooked over a fire before I can eat it, otherwise I’ll probably get sick.” Sans relaxes at your explanation, the tightness in his chest easing at your reassurance that no, he only fucked up a little bit, it’s okay. 

_ He’s had this damn human for less than a day and he’s already almost smothered her and poisoned her, but it’s okay. _

You must see the unease on his face because your smile turns soft. Sans watches you return to the fridge and grab something before turning to the cupboards, poking around in there until you hum in satisfaction and place your discoveries on to the countertop.  You’ve taken a jar of jam and a bag of bread from the cabinets, and found a half drank bottle of water stashed and forgotten in the back of the fridge. You smile pleasantly up at him and gesture to your meal with pride.  _ Kinda gross,  _ you admit to yourself,  _ but definitely not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.  _

“See? Problem solved!” 

You dig in to your makeshift meal as Sans watches on from the living room; you politely pretend to be unbothered by his blatant staring. 

Your hair is tangled and sticking every which way after being blown around in the storm the night before and then left like that while you slept. The sweater he’d given you is full of wrinkles, and you’re getting food on your hands and face while trying to eat without any silverware, plate, or napkins. 

Looking at you like this, Sans is reminded of when he was younger and had tried taking in that annoying dog, but had no real clue what to do with it or how to care for it. Its fur had been terribly matted, it ate messily and tore everything up, and overall had been a nightmare for Sans— he ended up tossing the thing back outside in just two days. 

You feel his eyes on you and look back up, smiling through a mouthful of food with jam smeared across one of your cheeks and a hand raised to give him a thumbs up. Face remaining blank, he raises a clawed hand of his own and weakly returns the motion. The storm carries on outside without sign of stopping anytime soon.  _ Day one,  _ a small voice in the back of his head jokes, and Sans swears he can faintly hear the bark of an annoying dog when you wave at him from the kitchen. 

Feeling especially defeated by this thought process, Sans drops himself into the living room couch with a long suffering groan, placing his skull into his hands with a resounding  _ clack  _ of bone against bone. This catches your attention and you abandon the last vestiges of your breakfast in favor of joining Sans in the living room. 

After a few beats of silence he peeks up through his claws. 

You’re standing there in the ridiculously oversized sweater, little hands clasped together loosely in front of you, a goofy smile on your face. There’s still a smudge of jam on your cheek. You look fucking ridiculous—  you look harmless.

_ *Paps and i are terrified of this thing. all’a monsterkind views this thing as a threat.  _

_ *this has gotta be some kinda joke.  _

Sans rolls his eyes and pushes himself up off of the couch, teeth grinding together. 

“alright, first things first: ya fuckin’ smell and ya look terrible. don’t gimme that look! it’s true! we gotta get you in a shower, pronto.” After his few bouts of embarrassment both yesterday and today, it feels good to watch your face light up red instead of his own. He laughs at you and moves to scrub his claws against the top of your head, much like he used to with Frisk, only catching himself at the last moment and instead moving to shove you forward towards the stairs. 

Well, there goes him not getting embarrassed. He just met the kid, and he’s already in the mood to get touchy-feely? How starved for affection could he possibly be? 

Willing the red magic to drain from his face, Sans shoves the thought into the far recesses of his mind for later. 

You gripe at being manhandled (* _ or should he say ‘monster’ handled? heh)  _ and Sans brushes past you to begin hauling himself up the stairs with you following close behind him. He leads you to the bathroom and points a phalange toward the shower. 

“get in ‘ere and strip. i’ll be back wit’ some clothes for ya.” Face still beet red, you nod and pull back the curtain. Sans makes quick work of slipping away to avoid seeing your silhouette through the curtain as you rid yourself of clothing, the awkwardness of the whole thing making it hard for him to think straight. 

The shower is relatively basic in Sans’ opinion, and he sighs in relief when you figure out the handles on your own and the water begins to run. Sans spends this short bout of free time searching through his clothing for anything you can wear without it being a little too...breezy. He comes up with some old clothes of Frisk’s forgotten from the last time they slept over at the skeleton household: a large blue sweater, a pink polka dot skirt, and a pair of purple fuzzy socks.  _ *perfect!  _

Sans returns to the bathroom and opens the door, quietly setting the clothes in a heap on the sink. A smell wafts towards him and his stomach flips when he recognizes it as the scent of his own personal body wash.  _ *first she gets naked an’ wears my shit, now she’s gonna smell like me… _

Sans turns tail and escapes back to the safety of his room, leaving you to finish your shower. He lays on his bed and stares up at the ceiling as the sound of running shower lulls him. 

He feels a hand nudging against his shoulder and his eyes fly open- had he fallen asleep again? Sans looks to his side and finds you standing there, smelling clean ( _ smelling like him... _ ) and looking refreshed, much better than when he’d first dragged you in here. A chortle bursts from his chest as he takes in your outfit. 

“nice clothes, ya dingus,” he manages around a wheeze, curling in on himself as his laughter grows substantially. You flush red at the sound of it, deep and rich and rough, and stomp your foot in protest.

“These are the clothes you gave me, you ass!” Sans nods, still wheezing with mirth, and you cross your arms self consciously. Sans takes pity on you and calms himself, wiping an invisible tear from his eye for good measure, and the two of you fall into yet another silence. You barely resist the urge to cringe at the sheer awkwardness you two just can't seem to get away from.  _ Gosh, all of this weird silence, you’d think the two of you were at a funeral!  _ Sans coughs and scratches his claws against the back of his neck. You rock back and forth on your feet, both of you waiting for the other to say something,  _ anything,  _ to break the silence. Finally, you relent. 

“Tell me about yourself, Sans.” He tilts his head and furrows his brow bones, lip curling up a bit. 

“and why the hell would i do that?” 

“Because,” you say while hopping onto the mattress beside him and laying down with your gaze settled on his own, “I wanna know more about the guy who saved my life.” Something about the gentle warmth in your eyes, the relaxed line of your body despite being next to a monster, sends a shock of both excitement and discomfort down his spine.  Sans flips his eyes back up to the ceiling to avoid the strange sensation your eye contact gives him and sighs. 

“well, i guess it all started when i was born-” you click your tongue and smack him lightly against the side of his skull and he falls apart in chuckles for a moment, with your own reluctant giggles joining close behind. Sans starts again, 

“i used to live Underground, obviously. Frisk- you heard of ‘em, Monster Ambassador, savior of Monster Kind, yadda yadda yadda- Frisk came down and freed us, even after we all tried to kick their ass. good kid, you’d like em, everyone does. anyway, we got freed...what, five years ago? and ‘cause of our usin’ G an’ all, we monsters were  _ filthy fuckin rich.  _ ‘s why we got such nice houses an’ ain’t ever gotta go to work unless we feel like it.” 

“You’re being boring! Everyone knows this stuff already. Tell me something about  _ you,  _ specifically. Sans the Skeleton Monster.” 

Sans peeks over at you before relenting with a sigh. 

“Sans the Skeleton Monster stories, eh? okay. i used to sell hotdogs down under the mountain at a shitty little wooden stand. sold ‘em  _ way  _ overpriced, ‘m talkin’ a ridiculous amount’a G, for no reason ‘cept to be a dickhead. real  _ dog _ gone mean thing to do, now that i think about it.” 

You snort at this and Sans relaxes with your laughter. Your entertainment spurs him on, and the two of you sit for the better part of two hours, Sans regaling you with the lighter aspects of his past, and you tittering beside him as the stories grow more and more ridiculous. He’s just about to explain why his brother hated the annoying dog so much when a loud growling noise interrupts him. 

Sans is out of bed instantly, left eye glowing as he glares down at you.  _ *i knew it! she’s been waiting to get me comfortable, and now she’s powering up some sorta human attack!  _ You jump up as well, face draining of color at his sudden rage. 

“My stomach! Dude, it was my stomach, don’t freak out!” The energy drifting from Sans’ eye extinguishes back into his normal eyelights and he relaxes his body, sockets still scrunched up with mild distrust. 

“what the  _ hell  _ did ya do that for, then?” 

“It wasn’t on purpose, jerk! It just means I’m hungry. Human stomachs growl when we need more food.” You begin to wander out of his room, no doubt headed for the kitchen, and Sans groans before following behind you while willing his soul to calm down from his outburst. Lunch is a repeat of breakfast— this time with an added bonus of napkins, silverware, and plates to avoid recreating the mess you made the first time.

After lunch you return to his room and turn on the tv, chatting every once and awhile over the shows to discuss more things about each other’s pasts. You live alone, no pets, no siblings; you work at a small restaurant about 10 minutes from here, and live in the handful of human apartments scattered in the housing area nearby it. 

Sans can’t help but feel as though your life sounds a bit lonely; sure, his may not be all that exciting, but at least he’s got Papyrus to keep him company. He’s about to ask you something else when a quiet snore beside him draws his attention to you. 

You’ve fallen asleep—  _ damn, is it already that late?—  _ and despite the fact that the two of you haven’t eaten dinner yet, Sans feels a wave of fatigue wash over his bones just looking at you sleeping peacefully beside him. A stray thought nags at the back of his mind but he easily tunes it out, eyelids sliding shut as he allows sleep take him in its arms. 

In his dreams, Sans feels as though he’s forgotten something... 

 

...Something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! So, updating schedule: as of right now, I'm aiming to update once a week. I'll post each new chapter on Saturday night, and if I don't post it Saturday, then I'll do my best to post it as soon as possible on Sunday. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and feel free to leave a comment! What you liked, how your day was, or just to say hi. Also, a reminder that I can also chat with you guys on my tumblr ( https://modambrosia.tumblr.com/ ). It's a little bare right now, but I'm hoping to add more stuff to it and use it more often now that I'm finishing up this current semester! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at https://modambrosia.tumblr.com/ to see any art I post as well as just keeping up with whatever I'm doing outside of just this fic! If you find any typos or errors, or just want to say hi, feel absolutely free to leave a comment and let me know!


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